Aftermath
by quinnovative
Summary: Members of the FBI team struggle to handle the death of one of their own. Tag to the 7x10 promo.


**A/N: **Ever since the promo I've had a sinking feeling that Vega is the one who's going to die, which makes me really sad because I love Vega. I think she's a pretty cool character. I think the episode is going to be terribly sad. Anyway, this little story has been forming in my head since Wednesday. I wrote it late one night when the thought wouldn't leave me alone, and because I had it written I figured I'd just go ahead and post. I hope it isn't too similar to any other stories on here! The first part of the chapter is Wylie, the second part is Jane and Lisbon. I hope you enjoy! Reviews are always appreciated!

* * *

It's the night after the funeral, after their final goodbyes had been said. Their words meaningless now that she's gone. Now that everything's changing.

The persuasive tug of sleep drags Wylie from a hellish reality into a whirlwind of dreams. Dreams that mix with memory, swirling life back into Vega.

Her words are soft and smooth, warming, like tendrils of steam coiling from coffee. His body absorbs the heat, comfort seeping through his veins. It's temporary, a sliver of bliss in a day of mourning, of grieving. A tortuous tsunami of pain and loss and longing. But for now, in sleep he finds sweet, sweet oblivion. In his dreams they meet, her dark hair flowing, lips speaking animatedly, mouth curving into a smile, fingers typing, feet running, walking, heart beating, lunging filling with air. Filling with life.

His eyelids draw apart in the eerie still of darkness. The kind that's reserved solely for early morning, for the hours of the lonesome and in love. For silence. There's a heaviness in the air, a weight. A permanence, an importance. An unknown connection is formed among those who feel it. Right now, it's a bond that binds the FBI team, the shared link of pain. There are worse ties, yes, but in the moment it's difficult to imagine a sunrise. It's hard to remember that the strongest ties form from loss rather than victory. At the time, the implications are too strong. The tug of Vega's death too crippling on the hearts of each agent, because when you love someone, it's impossible to ever truly let them go.

You don't fully understand the significance of their presence until they're gone. For some reason absence is stronger than attendance, but day by day something fills those holes. Their spirit, their being, the way in which they lived. You hear them in the way you talk, the things that make you laugh, the words of your favorite song. You see them on street corners, in restaurants, in the places once filled by their presence. You carry them with you and somehow you find a way to make that enough.

It feels like you're breaking, you're so sure that you won't experience that kind of happiness again. Then, one day you find that you're a little more okay than you were the day before, and so the cycle follows. You tell yourself that you can't do it, but then you do. You thrive on these small successes, they propel you forward and so you keep moving.

For now, it's the kind of sadness that echoes through Wylie's head, pangs of misery ricocheting through his heart, desperation in his bloodstream. It's persistent, unyielding, consuming and it hurts. It hurts so badly. Nothing feels real. _Impossible, _his mind screams, his heart thundering in agreement. He can't believe she's really dead. It was so sudden. It was too soon.

* * *

Meanwhile, Jane and Lisbon are on the couch in the brunette's living room. They didn't have the energy to make it to the bedroom, their feet and hearts heavy after the service. They'd collapsed onto the cushions, holding back the words concerning their impending future. This day was reserved for mourning, for remembering Vega, the life she had lived, the remarkable things she had done, the youthful light she'd brought into every room she'd entered. In some unspoken agreement they'd vowed not to talk about how this affected their jobs, at least not yet. Not today. Everything was going to change, but for now their hearts were aching with the raw loss of a friend, an agent, a team member. She was so young. She'd been so tough, it made them forget sometimes how little she truly was. It wasn't fair. There was so much more for her that life had to offer, she would have gone far and it hurts both Jane and Lisbon to imagine what will never be. Her presence hadn't been long, but it'd been powerful. In the short period of time she'd become a little bit like a younger sister, a daughter, someone they wanted to protect and they'd failed. She was gone. Killed in the line of duty. Another good person torn from the world.

Lisbon sighs softly, using her tightly clasped fist to push away tears as she straightens up.

"We should have done something," Lisbon whispers, shaking her head. More tears. Trickling down her cheeks, spilling toward the tip of her nose. "Damn it! We should have been there, Jane. We should have found a way to protect her."

Her lips quiver, her body shakes from anger or sadness, he can't tell. Probably both. The anguish in her eyes is so clear, it's hard to look. He understands though. He recognizes the guilt she feels, the deep loss that settles heavy in her bones. Hell, he feels the same way. It's a sentiment they're both too familiar with.

He takes her trembling hands into his steady ones. It's an art he's mastered—faking stability when he's cracking on the inside. He hates masking things from Lisbon, but right now she needs comfort and strength. She's always the tough one, always the one to carry them forward when things look dim, but at the moment he'll do anything to take that burden away from her. There's time for him to process and unwind later, now is a time reserved for Lisbon. A time when she needs him most.

"We couldn't have done anything. You know that."

Her gaze latches onto the floor as she nods. The truth of his words sinking in.

"She was so young." Lisbon's voice is a whisper, so quiet he almost misses it.

Jane nods. "I know." His exterior is breaking, grief seeping through. It something neither of them can hide, not tonight.

Lisbon runs her thumb over his. "You don't have to be so strong, you know." She says to him, glancing upward and seeking his eyes. They catch for a moment, before he drops his head into his heads. A heavy sigh escapes from his lungs.

His voice is shaking, breathy with pain and uncertainty. "Maybe I should feel relieved that it wasn't you, but I don't, at least not in the sense I thought I would. I'm so thankful that you're alive, that you're still here, but I feel worse thinking that I should feel relief, because someone still died. Someone we cared about. I feel horrible. I feel sad. She didn't deserve this. She was a good person."

"And a damn good agent," Lisbon says.

As she stands up, soft moonlight illuminates her features. Jane follows, their fingers still intertwined as Lisbon leads them to the bedroom, hoping that their exhaustion might give way to an unaware sleep.

"We're going to be okay," Jane whispers against Lisbon's hair as they slip beneath the sheets. He wraps his arms around her, pulling her small frame against his chest. Tonight they need innocent human contact. The warmth shared between two bodies. Jane's thumb brushes her cheek and he hates the dampness he feels, hates that the same tears gather in his eyes. Hates that the knife of death has severed their world, their security and happiness. He hates the conversations they'll have to deal with in the morning, the complications, the empty desk in the bullpen, the missing team member, the missing friend. He hates it, loathes the situation, but he knows that they're going to figure everything out. He's confident in his own words. They're going to be okay.


End file.
